The Essence of Friendship
by lbc
Summary: Wilson is offered another job . . . in Florida. The conclusion is posted. It is divided into two parts: chapters 8 and 9. Definitely slash so if you don't care for that, don't read it. Feedback is certainly welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Essence of Friendship (1?)

By: lbc

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: For Mature Readers, mostly due to language

Genre: slash mentioned in early chapters

Number of words: 1351

Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own these characters.

Summary: House and Wilson have an argument with far reaching results.

James Wilson sprang up from House's sofa for what must have been (conservatively) the hundredth time. It had been a long day for Wilson and his snarky, brilliant, often less than convivial host, Gregory House.

Greg House's right thigh was killing him; the Vicodin recently ingested, not yet relaxing the pain in the damaged leg. House's blue eyes continued to follow the slender, well-dressed figure as it paced across the room. Surely, by now, Wilson had successfully completed a marathon distance of pacing, but House said nothing, knowing that his friend was not ready to tell him what was bothering him.

James Wilson had been hyperactive all day, in fact, all week or longer. House dropped his chin to his chest as he contemplated how long his friend had seemed to be hiding something. Normally, House would have nagged his friend until he had spilled his guts, but House had been too wrapped up in his recent struggles with Stacy to really seem to notice what was going on with his best friend. House knew that Wilson was over his divorce from Julie, or he had certainly given a valiant imitation of a man less-than-heart broken over the loss of wife number three. And yet, with James Wilson, one never knew because the younger man was very good at carrying the weight of the world on his slender shoulders.

"House?"

House raised his head, shaking it very briefly to rid it of the cobwebs of his thoughts. Forcing himself to focus his blue eyes to stare at his long time friend.

"Yes?"

"I've got to get going. I've got an early appointment with Cuddy."

House sighed. He was fed up with Wilson's stall tactics so a large layer of sarcasm was applied to the open wound that was James Wilson.

"A meeting? What, are you finally going to explain to her why you stopped sleeping with her? That's the gentlemanly thing to do."

Wilson scrunched up his handsome face with a puzzled look. "What the hell are you talking about? She's my boss. I don't sleep with my boss."

House's blue eyes twinkled, but he answered seriously, "You slept with me, so what's different about her, except, of course, she's got long hair, and I've got it on my face? . . .Oh, maybe I'm forgetting my biology, I guess there are other differences."

"I haven't slept with a man in a long time, and I definitely haven't slept with Cuddy."

"Well, you slept with your wives and look what that got you."

"Yeah, alimony, but will you shut up, I've got something to tell you."

"Well, excuse me for living; I'm just trying to encourage you to make an honest man out of yourself by telling Cuddy the truth, and you go all girlie on me."

Wilson's dark eyes were now intense, almost flaming. He had planned this so carefully, and suddenly he just blurted it out. "I've been offered another position . . . in Florida."

There was silence in the room as Gregory House seemed to be sifting the words through his mind as if he couldn't quite understand them or they were in a tongue he couldn't comprehend.

James Wilson stood on the other side of the room; his tie loose, the sleeves to his cambrai shirt rolled up to his elbows. His hands were on his hips as if he was defying House, but he said nothing further.

Finally, House whispered, "Running out on your alimony; that's not a good idea."

Wilson's shoulders slouched; he was tired . . . so tired. He had agonized for more than a week about how he was going to tell his best friend . . . his only friend that he had a chance to get out of House's life . . . a chance to seek refuge away from the magnetic and exhausting personality who sat across the room.

Wilson cleared his throat, trying to verbalize his thoughts, but his stomach was tied in knots. He could read every nuance of House's body, and he knew the man had been shaken by the announcement. "Do you remember Chuck Taylor? He was a year or so behind you in Med School?"

For the moment, House held back his curiosity and his growing fury and responded as if the two men were having a normal conversation and not one that was going to rip the heart out of an 18 year friendship.

"Chuck Taylor? You mean Charles Ducksworth Taylor, the holier than thou zealot who knew everything about medicine when he was barely more than a snotty-nosed kid?"

Wilson didn't smile but his eyes did as if he recognized the description immediately, but was too loyal to voice it. "Yeah, that's the one. We got to be pretty good . . . friends after you . . . well, after you graduated. He started a clinic which treats lots of senior citizens, and he . . . well, he needs an oncologist, and . . . he offered me the job."

House could barely hear the last words as they faded out into the stifling air of the room. House's eyes turned a deeper shade of blue as if they were freezing over. Even the superheated air seemed to cool as House's body heat sank to subzero temperatures.

The older man dropped his head to his chest and rested his two hands on the top of his cane for a moment then he looked up at his friend, "That will really be fun, treating the gray haired horde for threats from various diseases. Bet you'll make a mint." House dropped his head and sighed heavily then continued, "And just when were you going to tell me all this?"

Wilson looked shamed faced and guilty, "I . . . wanted to tell you last week, but I didn't have the chance. You were gone to that conference and then lots of things came up. I'm sorry."

Now, House's voice was hard, granite would have shattered on the uttered words, "We've spent almost every night together when I've been around, you couldn't find 30 seconds to utter the immortal words, 'Hey, House, you idiot, I'm thinking of hauling my ass out of here, so tough shit, to you, buddy."

Wilson bristled at the words used, but had to admit he deserved the scorn. "Yeah, I forgot that you're good at hauling your own ass out of a situation you're tired of, aren't you?"

Wilson was breathing heavily as he waited for House to retaliate. Wilson, you're an idiot to match sarcasm with the master. 17 years before Greg House had walked out on their year long affair, leaving behind the battered soul of a 19 year old, James Wilson.

Silence once again deluged the room. The tension was so painful, it couldn't last long. Wilson knew that when he told House of the offer, it would not be pleasant, but House's next words were beyond Wilson's imagination.

"Now, I see Dr. Wilson. So magnanimous of you to let me know. Now I have just one question for you?"

Wilson said nothing, just waited.

"Are you sleeping with Chuckie-poo? Is that why he offered you the job?"

James Wilson's heart shattered. His body seemed frozen; his thoughts whirled in a thousand different directions. How could his friend ask him that? Finding his jacket which had been thrown over one of the chairs, he headed towards the door. Almost wrenching it off its hinges, Wilson turned momentarily, his face flushed from heat and anger, "Damn you, House." With that cry of agony, James Wilson walked out of House's apartment, slamming the door in reaction to the pain that enveloped him.

House managed to walk wearily to the sofa where he collapsed in despair. His worst nightmare had come true. He now had no one he could count on. His Jamie had always been there for him, and now . . . Gregory House was truly alone.

End of part 1


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Essence of Friendship, part 2

By: lbc

Pairing: House and Wilson

Rating: for mature adults

Genre: slash mentioned but no action

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these guys.

Numbers of words: 2021

Summary: House makes plans.

House had spent a very bad night . . . staring at the ceiling. Finally, he had swallowed two Vicodin tablets and got some rest . . . and overslept. It was well after 11:00 am before he appeared at Princeton-Plainsboro. His original intention had been to confront James Wilson, but he could not find the younger man. None of the ducklings knew where his friend was although all of them had mentioned seeing him with a man whose description varied upon the observer: handsome and gallant (Cameron), efficient (Foreman), nice smile and friendly (Chase).

A touch of foreboding filled House as he remembered Wilson's intention to meet with Cuddy and that Charles "Aren't-I-Great" Taylor would be arriving sometime that morning. Heading towards Cuddy's office, he stopped with trepidation as he peered through the glass walls and saw three seated figures having an apparently friendly conversation. Wilson looked tired, Cuddy looked . . . well, bra-less, and Charles Taylor looked . . . smug and supremely confident.

For a moment House was ready to gird up his loins as it were and beard the lion's den, but was saved this act by the trio standing up and leaving Cuddy's office. As James Wilson came out, he noticed House standing nearby but said nothing. Lisa Cuddy and Charles Taylor quickly followed. Wilson didn't bother to introduce the stranger to his best friend. Cuddy, however, realized that something was wrong and took it upon herself to bridge the gap.

"Dr. House, this is Dr. Charles Taylor. He's here at Dr. Wilson's invitation to observe some of our procedures."

Charles Taylor smiled and held out his hand which House reluctantly took. "Dr. Gregory House? I'm very pleased to meet you. I don't think there's a doctor alive who hasn't heard of you."

Gregory House's blue eyes sparkled with anger at the man's manner. "It's the dead ones I worry about."

James Wilson rolled his eyes and pointedly looked at his watch. "If you will excuse me, Chuck, I've got some files to look at before I have clinic this afternoon."

Charles Taylor swiftly turned towards his friend. "You have clinic duty, the best oncologist in the world has clinic duty? Wow!"

Cuddy broke in, "All of our doctors do clinic duty." Here she stopped to give a pointed look at Greg House. "It helps them keep in touch with all kinds of patients."

Charles Taylor nodded. "Well, that certainly is an innovative idea. At my clinic I see mostly elderly patients so I really would be interested in seeing Jimmy doing clinic duty."

House fairly bristled when he heard Wilson called, "Jimmy" but "Jimmy" certainly noticed his blue eyes rolling back into his head.

Lisa Cuddy immediately agreed that Charles Taylor should see the clinic. James Wilson started to move down the corridor after reminding Taylor about the location of Oncology and that they would meet at noon for lunch before going onto the clinic.

House started to move off to follow Wilson but was stopped when his pager went off. Upon hearing the information about a new patient, House's attention was turned towards another medical crisis, but a few minutes after noon, he found himself free as he had delegated his ducklings to perform the standard and unusual tests that he required for a full work-up for the new admittance.

Somehow, Greg House found himself near the cafeteria. It had been standard practice that when he and Wilson were available around lunch time that they ate together. House badly missed his friend's company and was even more jealous that Chuck Taylor was taking his place in this almost daily ritual.

Limping into the cafeteria, he quickly spotted the two men who had their heads together, laughing over some shared idea. If Gregory House had had control over a Star Trek phaser, he would have - - with total delight - - sent Charles Taylor into oblivion, but since the small gizmo was not available, House did the next best thing: he walked over to the table to break up the tête à tête and make himself obnoxious to one and all. For Greg House it was a regular routine - - although not usually targeted at James Wilson.

"Ah, here you are; hope you didn't start without me."

Chuck Taylor politely stood and shook House's hand again. "Ah, Dr. House, please join us."

Once again James Wilson rolled his eyes, but said little. "Jimmy and I were just discussing some of the procedures and medical cases that I've seen this morning. You should all be proud of your work."

House gave Taylor a slimy, insincere smile, "Of course, we are. We are here to serve and protect . . . or is that the Los Angeles police? I always get that mixed up."

Taylor laughed. "You certainly are living up to your reputation. I checked out your patient success record. It's remarkable. I also like the idea of your fellowship assistants. That's a great idea. We're lucky enough at my clinic that we could do something like it, of course, we don't have your budget."

Once again House gave the sleazy answer, "Oh, you're too modest. You don't have my assistants, but I hear that you are here trawling for doctors to hire." At his last words, House looked pointedly in Wilson's direction. Before Wilson could say anything, however, his pager went off. Checking the message, Wilson announced that he was required in the clinic right away.

"Go ahead, Jimmy; I'll follow you in a couple of minutes, as soon as I finish my lunch."

House looked up into James Wilson's dark eyes and, with a smug grin said, "Yes, go ahead, JIMMY, I'd love to keep Dr. Taylor company for awhile."

Wilson seemed almost ready to say something then shrugged his shoulders and left. House continued to drink his coffee while Taylor finished his salad. House's thoughts were in turmoil. Watching a full grown man eating a salad instead of greasy burgers and fries was certainly revolting, but his mind was on something else: a plan to rid the hospital of Charles Taylor and guarantee that James Wilson would stay where he belonged . . . at Princeton Plainsboro.

Clearing his throat Gregory House began his campaign. "Are you really here looking for personnel?"

"Yes, as good as the conditions are in my clinic, we are always looking to improve. I'm pleased to say that our guests are happy with our services, and we are always expanding. That's why I contacted Jimmy. We need another first rate oncologist to come on staff, and I immediately thought of him."

"Hmm! Well, I'm not surprised. You knew each other from Med School, didn't you?"

Taylor's face blushed slightly, "Well, yes as a matter of fact, we did. I guess I was in my second year when Jimmy arrived. He's an absolute genius. He certainly didn't need my help."

"I'll bet. I remember you, especially the endowment that your father gave to the school for a Chair in Geriatrics, wasn't it? I'll bet the old _alma mater_ really appreciated that 25 million."

For a second, Charles Taylor looked slightly chagrined at the memory, but then his natural arrogance took over. "Hmmm, yes I guess they did. Not every day that a school picks up change like that."

House gave a slight grimace, whether from the throbbing pain in his right thigh or the pomposity of the man sitting across from him, he wasn't sure, but he couldn't be blatantly judgmental if he was going to keep James Wilson in New Jersey.

"I was just wondering if you have a Diagnostics Department in your clinic?"

"Weellll, we do a lot of diagnosis, of course, but it's not really a separate department. All our doctors are expected to perform that function." Taylor laughed slightly as if somehow his clinic had been found deficient in some way.

"Yes, well Princeton-Plainsboro is leading the way in that idea, but your "institution" is known to be on the cutting edge of new ideas so I thought perhaps . . . you had taken that advanced step as well."

Looking into the greedy eyes of Charles Taylor, House knew he had the man hooked, now he had to reel him in so House continued, "I knew as soon as I saw you that you would be open to such a bold idea. I told JIMMY that I remembered you as that kind of guy."

Obviously flattered, Taylor almost squealed out his delight, "YOU remember me from Med School?"

"Of course, you don't think I was there, just for the education, do you?"

"Well, I . . . uh, sort of heard that you and Jimmy hung around together, but you were so well-known on campus, I never dreamed you would know me."

House sighed, "Of course, I did. I am just amazed at all you've done in the past few years. Your clinic's world famous, and you've got a well-earned reputation yourself. Now if you just had a Diagnostics Department to match your image . . ."

"Weelll, I'm certainly going to have to think about that. You wouldn't know someone who might be good enough to start up such a project, would you?"

House stared at the man, imagining Charles Taylor selling used cars and twirling an oily handle-bar moustache. Pushing down the bile that was threatening to rise in his throat, he uttered the words that would complete his plan: "Well, what about me?"

Charles Taylor's eyebrows shot up. "What? . . . I mean that would be great; a great oncologist and you working in the same clinic, wouldn't that be great."

Yeah, great! Now House was able to give his grand and well-practiced frown which, of course, Charles Taylor quickly noticed, "Did I say something wrong?"

"Well, I don't want to say anything against a colleague, but Dr. Wilson's going through some rough times right now. You know he's just had his THIRD divorce and well, I just don't know."

House stopped at this point. Even this idiot couldn't be so stupid as to not understand House's hints, but apparently he was.

"I . . . I don't understand."

House almost rolled his eyes, but stopped himself. "What I'm trying to say is that I don't think it would be a good idea to take Dr. Wilson out of this environment at the present time. I would feel . . . well, more comfortable working with someone who was more stable than Wilson. Do you think that would be possible?"

For a moment Taylor frowned, looking totally puzzled then he verbalized his concern. "So what you're saying is that you'll come down to Florida and run the Diagnostic Department for my clinic, but you don't want the new oncologist to be Dr. Wilson?"

Bingo! "Oh, I'm so glad you're on my wavelength. Is that too much to ask?"

Charles Taylor's Cheshire cat grin spoke volumes. "Of course not; that's totally and absolutely perfect. When do you want to talk to Dr. Cuddy?"

"Well, I think that you should talk to Dr. Wilson first, don't you?"

Once again, Taylor seemed a bit puzzled but readily agreed. "Of course, I'm already late to the clinic, but I'll tell him when I see him."

Taylor got up and left the cafeteria; House sat contentedly at the table, giving Taylor some time to deliver the message that Wilson no longer was headed for Florida. After a few minutes, House left for his office to do some research on the new patient's physical problems.

He could not resist, however, detouring past the clinic area where he saw Charles Taylor talking to James Wilson. It was obvious that Wilson was disturbed. The look his friend gave House was chilling. As the diagnostician went to his office, a chill passed through his body as if someone was walking over his grave.

End of part 2


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry this is so short, but it seemed to be a good place to end this part.

Title: The Essence of Friendship, part 3

By: lbc

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: for mature audiences

Genre: will finally be slash

Disclaimer: I sure I owned these guys.

Number of Words: 896

Summary: Wilson's clinical technique encounters criticism.

Dr. Gregory House sat in his office with his earphones on, but, for once, he wasn't listening to anything. There was "something" playing, but his mind was so totally distracted that he could not have told you what it was.

He was "seeing" the look that his friend James Wilson had given him just minutes before. Since House was 30 foot away in a busy corridor, it was impossible to tell what Chuck Taylor was telling his friend, but House knew - - after all, hadn't he driven that mealy-mouthed, lower-than-life Denebian slime devil into telling Wilson that Taylor had changed his mind and that while he wanted the "noted" diagnostician Gregory House on his clinic staff, he did not want James Wilson.

The look in those soft, dark eyes haunted House. He had never seen such an expression in the oncologist's eyes before - - not even during those hellacious days when House was recovering from a life threatening infarction. House sighed, not even his beloved yo-yo offered comfort to the forlorn man. Boy, will Wilson owe me for saving him from the clutches of Charles "Holier Than Thou" Taylor.

House's mind was in turmoil and well it should have been because House knew, in his heart, that his true concern was: would James Wilson forgive him for "saving" the ungrateful bastard from Chuckie-poo's clutches?

Unconsciously, House turned up the volume that was coming into his earphones, hoping the decibel level would help him forget his recent actions, but the noise didn't work. In fact, it made House's head vibrate so badly with pain that he ripped the phones off while noticing, after his ears stopped ringing, that the security-breach klaxon was blaring away. House shook his head, wondering if the ducklings had decided to revolt _en masse. _His heart stopped for several seconds when he finally understood the words coming out of the speaker system: there was a problem in the Clinic and Security was being alerted.

If anyone had taken the time to actually determine Gregory House's IQ, they would have discovered that it was off the charts, but on this occasion, the slender, crippled man immediately put two and two together, with very little help from his brain - - his heart did all the work: James Wilson was in the Clinic and there was a problem there.

House got out of his chair as quickly as possible, racing towards the Clinic. By the time he got there, the trouble was over. Three, very large and very bruised security guards, had a husky, muscular, scruffy looking individual in custody. Even now the man was demanding to see someone named Maggie. House took all of this in in the span of a millisecond because what he was really noticing was the dishevelled appearance of Charles Taylor. It looked like the prick had been wrestling a gorilla. Taylor was mouthing something to House, but he didn't really understand because the shrieking wail of a diminutive woman pervaded the entire space around him and 40 blocks out from his location.

House was preparing to shout at the woman to stop screaming when his blue eyes spotted the even smaller Lisa Cuddy walking out of the exam room 1. As she moved forward, House could see - - in that slow motion - - that movies are so fond of when something devastating happens, the crumpled body of his best friend, James Wilson.

Lisa Cuddy's mouth was moving but House could not understand; he simply plowed through the door to move to his friend's side. Getting down on the ground was awkward, but House never hesitated. There was blood flowing from a scalp wound, obviously made by contact with some equipment against the wall. Eric Foreman had arrived seconds earlier than House and was dealing with the medical side of the situation, but, for once, House had to be with the patient. He could not diagnose from afar.

Staring at the unconscious man, House stared at the bruised face. "What?"

Chase, who had made the race with Foreman, stood nearby, handing over supplies as Foreman called for them. He cleared his throat then said briefly, "That guy out there attacked Dr. Wilson. Apparently threw him across the room where he hit his head. He's been out, at least, five minutes."

House looked up at Chase and stared but merely nodded his head. The shock of seeing his Jamie, lying on the floor as if he were dead, was so devastating that his normal, sarcastic wit was totally blasted away, much like Mt. St. Helens had done to the trees around its base so many years before.

Foreman put away his medical gear and stood up, thus permitting the orderlies to carefully place the unconscious figure of James Wilson on a gurney. Foreman offered his hand to House, who gratefully took it. After House returned to a standing position, he asked again, "What?"

"He's concussed. I've dressed his scalp wound, but it will need stitches. He's going to have a headache. I'm sending him to get some pictures taken then we'll admit him."

House nodded then turned and followed the gurney, carrying his friend to radiology.

End of part 3


	4. Chapter 4

Title: The Essence of Friendship, part 4

By: lbc

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: mature adults

Genre: will finish as slash

Disclaimer: I'm sorry I don't own these characters.

Amount of Words: 1695

Summary: James Wilson wakes up.

James Wilson opened his eyelid a slit. The light was like a blast from an exploding sun. He had had migraines where the smallest amount of light had been like a sledgehammer to his head, but this was unendurable; then welcome darkness engulfed him as he slid back into unconsciousness.

The next time he woke, the light was better. Wherever he was, someone had been thoughtful enough to dim the lights. Pain, shooting through his body, was an immediate indication to not move too quickly, but he managed to see, with his foggy vision, that he was in a hospital room. He let his whole body relax, trying to analyze the situation. He began to contemplate how one could determine the amount of time that had passed. It wasn't like Rip Van Winkle waking up with wrinkles and white hair, but he was sure that whatever had put him into this white starched bed, had not happened a few minutes before.

Then he heard a soothing voice that he recognized. Moving his eyes very slowly, he allowed his brown orbs to adjust to the scene before him. After several blinks, he realized that Lisa Cuddy was standing at the side of his bed, concern on her face.

In a hoarse whisper, more due to dryness than anything, Wilson asked, "Am I dying?"

Cuddy smiled and replied, "No, definitely not, you got a pretty good whack on your head, 15 stitches to close a cut, lots of bruises and a concussion."

At that moment, Wilson managed to focus on a distorted figure, standing outside of the glass wall that enclosed the hospital room. The man was dressed in a blue police uniform and seemed to be staring into the room . . . at Wilson. Although his head hurt, he managed to ask, "Who's that?"

"Oh, that's Sergeant Jamieson, he's sort of acting as security until we get this all straightened out."

"This?"

Wilson's eyelids had been getting heavy until he heard Cuddy's words, Am I under arrest?

"Dr. Wilson, do you remember what happened?"

Wilson's handsome faced scrunched up into a puzzled frown. "How long have I been here?"

"You arrived at the clinic at 1:00 pm which is about five hours ago. You've been examined, you've had an MRI, and you've had stitches, but what the Sergeant and the rest of us would like to know is what happened. A Mr. . . . Seivers took a dislike to something you did, but we can't get anything out of him, and his wife is still hysterical so we're hoping you can explain the whole thing."

Wilson looked apprehensive, but not so much from fear of what happened but that he was having trouble remembering. After a few minutes, however, he began to speak. Realizing that the Doctor was trying to explain what had happened, Cuddy motioned the Sergeant into the room.

"It's all kind of fuzzy. I . . . I remember Chuck Taylor telling me something. Can't remember what then I went into exam room 1. This woman was sitting on the exam gurney. I looked at her chart which said that she had been complaining of a severe sore throat. I asked her name to verify that I had the right patient's chart. I asked her to adjust her blouse so I could listen to her heart before I looked at her throat and then . . . it was like an explosion. The exam room door slammed open and this wild maniac burst in. He screamed at the woman, 'You whore!' and headed towards Mrs. Seivers."

Here Wilson stopped, breathless and exhausted. Both Cuddy and the Sergeant waited for him to begin again. "I stepped in front of Mrs. Seivers, and the guy turned his anger on me and next thing I knew I was being thrown across the room and then the lights went out."

Sergeant Jamieson had been writing the entire time, but when Wilson stopped, he looked up and asked a question. "Did you touch Mrs. Seivers, at all?"

Wilson's eyelids blinked as if he had trouble remembering then in a tired voice, he whispered, "I . . . I don't think so. I was just walking over to her side, trying to adjust my stethoscope when the door burst open and this scruffy guy roared in."

"Dr. Cuddy, representing the hospital, has indicated its desire to press charges for the assault on one of its personnel, but it would help our investigation into what happened if you could give us a description of the perpetrator of the attack," Jamieson asked.

For a moment, James Wilson looked at the police sergeant as if he was speaking Greek then his face cleared as the request seemed to make itself through his clogged up brain cells. "I don't remember much 'cause it all happened so fast. I remember him saying, "You whore." He was tall, Mrs. Seivers seemed so small compared to him. He was moderately husky, had darker hair, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in a day or two . . . I think he was wearing some sort of jacket and jeans, but he seemed unsure on his feet like he was drunk or had hurt his leg."

Although Lisa Cuddy said nothing, the description certainly reminded her of someone else. She was about to say something when the glass door slammed open. Dr. Gregory House's limping figure almost exploded into the room. His blue eyes were ablaze with anger, all directed at Lisa Cuddy. "You promised me you would call as soon as Wilson woke up, what's going on?"

The policeman's natural instinct was to step between the enraged man and the very petite woman, but Cuddy's natural presence and lack of fear, convinced Sergeant Jamieson that the new arrival was not a danger. A sound caused all three people standing in the room to look at the bed. James Wilson was lying there with his eyes wide out, fear shining out from his brown eyes. His fear and his glare were directed at one person: Gregory House!

"I . . . I . . . Wilson's voice seemed paralyzed as he tried to get the words out. Finally, he stopped and tried again, "Is . . . is that him, the guy who attacked me?"

There was utter silence in the room. Cuddy looked at House who stared dumbfounded at Wilson. Jamieson spent his time turning his head from one individual to the next as if somehow he had ended up in Wonderland, but didn't know how.

The silence continued until finally Lisa Cuddy found her voice. "No, Dr. Wilson; your assailant is in custody. This is . . . well, . . . this is your best friend, Dr. Gregory House."

Sergeant Jamieson continued to look at the two men like they were refugees from a madhouse. Finally, he found his voice and murmured that he would come back later.

Lisa Cuddy knew that there was real trouble. She wasn't surprised to discover that Dr. Wilson was having some memory problems. She excused herself to find Dr. Eric Foreman in hopes that the neurologist could examine the injured doctor again.

That left Dr. Gregory House facing the man that he had known for 18 years; the same man who had just mistaken him for his violent assailant. House limped over to the bed so it wasn't such a strain for Wilson to look at him. He did not, however, move any closer to the man.

"I . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you, but you do look like . . . Mr. Seivers . . . and you were so angry."

"Are you telling me that you don't know who I am?"

Dr. Cuddy said that you were Gregory House and my friend but . . . well, I don't . . . I can't." Wilson stopped, laying his tender head back on the hospital white pillow. He felt so disoriented. Why was the man so hostile if they were supposed to be friends?

"Look at me." House turned up the lights to enable the blinking man to look at him. Wilson said nothing. Dimming the lights once again, House returned to Wilson's bedside.

"I want you to say to me that you don't recognize me, if that's true."

"I . . . I told you I didn't. I'm really sorry. My head hurts . . . a lot. I've got a concussion. If you're a doctor, you must know that sometimes that means amnesia. I just don't know you."

At that moment, Greg House was putting enough pressure on his cane to push it straight through the floor. His leg was killing him, his temples were pounding, and his heart felt as if it was shattered. In all his agony, he retaliated with the only thing he could: words.

"Is this your revenge, Jamie? Is this how I'm going to be punished for trying to keep you here? Why don't you just punch me out, instead of doing this?"

Wilson opened his mouth to question what the man in front of him was talking about when another man walked in the door. He was average height, dark hair, and handsome. He seemed familiar. His voice whined when he shouted out, "Jimmy, they said you were awake. Man, you had me scared."

Greg House, looking at the newcomer with absolute contempt, quickly turned towards James Wilson. Wilson, on the other hand, stared at the recent arrival, trying to recognize him then he uttered the words that crushed Greg House's hopes. "Chuck, you look like hell. I'm fine, didn't they tell you?"

Greg House said nothing; he merely looked at James Wilson for a moment with an unreadable expression and then walked out the door.

End of part 4


	5. Chapter 5

Title: The Essence of Friendship, part 5

By: lbc

Pairing: Wilson and House

Rating: mature adults

Genre: slash elements now; full slash later

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters.

Words: 1870

Feedback welcome

Summary: Wilson goes home.

James Wilson lay in the hospital bed, exhausted. He had been woken early for more tests. The young black doctor had said that he was Dr. Foreman and that he had been assigned to his case. Wilson had questioned this, but on being informed that Foreman was a neurologist, hadn't said much more, but then Cuddy had arrived later.

The news that he heard was disturbing. Oh, not that his problems were medical. His tests had been good, and he was going to be released that afternoon. He would be given a week's sick leave, but what was disturbing was that Cuddy seemed to be reluctant to discuss . . . discuss Gregory House. Wilson couldn't understand why this Dr. House was acting like he was, but he was more concerned about why his own personal physician hadn't been notified and why he hadn't made an appearance.

When Cuddy had replied that his physician had been notified, the can of worms was opened, and it seemed that the chief worm was one, Gregory House, who had been Wilson's designated doctor for numerous years.

Wilson sighed as he thought about the significance of this information. An individual did not just choose anybody to be one's personal physician. He, James Wilson, must have had a great deal of confidence in Greg House to designate him as such, and yet . . . and yet now, James Wilson couldn't even remember the man! Not only that, but he had asked for his personal files and discovered that he was also House's personal physician. Their friendship must be very real, but James Wilson had a difficult time believing it.

James Wilson was tired of lying around. He sat up for awhile and felt less than stellar. He insisted on being able to use the bathroom but felt very tired after even that short walk. He had been interrogated again by Sergeant Jamieson and had been told that Earl Seivers was a jealous man who thought his wife was seeing someone else. He had followed "Maggie" to the hospital and when he had discovered her sheltered in an exam room with "a man", he had gone berserk with James Wilson receiving the main avalanche of his anger.

The hospital was going to press charges, but Wilson no longer cared. He felt that something much deeper was going on, but his memory was very erratic on certain things so he wasn't sure how soon, he would be able to determine the cause of his estrangement from the man who was supposed to be his best friend.

Wilson was feeling tired again, but was reluctant to sleep for fear that Foreman, or one of those other doctors who had visited him, might think that he was not ready to be dismissed. It seemed that all three doctors had some sort of relationship with Gregory House, but since Wilson couldn't recall them, he had hesitated to ask.

Looking through the glass wall, the oncologist could see Chuck Taylor approaching. Thank goodness for Taylor. At least, I remember him.'

Looking especially handsome, Taylor walked in and looked at his friend. "Ah, Jimmy, I'm glad you're more focussed today. I've got to be going back to Florida. I'm really sorry about what happened, but my clinic just can't do without me. I've got a noon flight so I have to get going. I'm sure the Board will be pleased with Dr. Matthews, and, of course, Dr. House."

"Dr. House?"

"Oh, of course, you're having trouble remembering him. Well, you know that Bill Matthews has accepted the Oncology position at the clinic, but Dr. House approached me . . . just before you had the run-in with that guy . . . and said that he was interested in a position. With his reputation, I don't think I'll have any trouble selling the Board on accepting him."

Wilson frowned. "Is he that famous?"

"Boy, you're brain is fried. He went to school with us - - well, he was a few years ahead of us. You two seemed pretty close before he graduated; then he went to Hopkins to intern, and it's been onward and upward ever since. His reputation is top-notch - - as a diagnostician, he's also pretty temperamental and sarcastic, but I'm paying for his reputation, and I suspect I can handle the rest."

Since James Wilson couldn't really remember House, he fell back to the second "lucky" selectee. "Bill Matthews is a good choice; you'll be pleased."

"Yeah, I wish you would have said yes, but what with House . . . well, it's not necessary to go into that."

"What are you talking about, Chuck? Did House make conditions?"

"Well, I don't know what you did to him, old buddy, but he specifically requested that you not be given the Oncology job if he took the Diagnostics position. Since you had decided not to take it anyhow, it was no skin off my nose."

James Wilson felt like an empty shell. He remembered everyone else but Gregory House and his assistants. He was told that House was his personal physician and his best friend, and yet House didn't want to be around him. What the hell had happened between them?

Wilson dropped his head back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. Charles Taylor was often oblivious to the problems of others, but he could see Wilson's exhaustion so he took his leave. Several hours passed, but finally James Wilson was cleared to leave the hospital.

Lisa Cuddy walked along side Wilson's wheelchair as it was pushed out of the hospital. When she saw the taxi waiting, she demanded to know what was going on and insisted that Wilson have someone stay with him for a day or so.

Wilson looked at the small woman and said, "I'm a big boy now. My headache is almost gone. I just didn't feel like driving. I promise I'll go straight home and take advantage of the week's sick leave that you've so kindly given me. I don't need a babysitter, thank you very much."

Cuddy stared at the tall man, thinking that his stubbornness was second only to one scruffy faced, pain in the posterior diagnostician. Carefully, Wilson stood up from of the wheelchair and approached the taxi. Suddenly, from out of nowhere a silver Lexus pulled up and stopped. Dr. Gregory House got out of the car and moved to the side of the taxi. Speaking to the taxi driver, he said, "You're not needed; I'm taking the good doctor to his abode."

The less than genius driver merely replied, "Huh?"

Blue eyes sparked as House handed over a more than adequate tip for a job never done. "Look fella, I – am – taking – the - man – home, so go away."

Looking at the hefty tip, the driver nodded and took off, barely giving a backward glance.

James Wilson had not yet placed his small collection of clothes in the car so he was now caught there, with a bundle, but without benefit of the shelter that the taxi had afforded.

Gregory House stood there looking then said, "Get in."

Wilson looked carefully at the silver car and realized it was his. "How'd you get my car?"

"Well, duh, it's been parked in the lot under the sign, "Dr. James Wilson" since the day the Incredible Scruff attacked you. I just picked the pocket of your clothes and got your keys. Now, isn't that all simple? Now get in, will you?"

House turned to Cuddy and said, "My eyes are feeling shell-shocked from gazing at your cleavage. I'm going to take Dr. Wilson home, and then visit the local pharmacy to purchase some eye drops. Should be back . . . sometime." With those words, he grabbed the bundle of clothes from Wilson's arms and made for the driver's side of the car.

James Wilson continued to stand there, totally befuddled. He had not seen House since the evening before when House had walked out of his hospital room, and now the man was offering to drive him home. Totally off the wall. It came to James Wilson's mind to question his own sanity about why he would have this man as his friend.

"Come on, Wilson. Haven't got all day. My eyes are seared with the sights that Dr. Cuddy has shown me today. Move it or I will lose my sight."

Totally bemused, James Wilson moved towards the car. Getting in, he collapsed into the passenger's seat, preparing himself for the strangest ride he would probably ever take.

As House darted into traffic, Wilson tried to settle into the very comfortable seat, but, if the truth were known, his whole body still ached, especially the muscles in his neck as well as his throbbing head. The silence was welcome. The smell of the Lexus was heavenly . . . or maybe it was the aroma of Greg House, who seemed to be concentrating on the road ahead.

Wilson leaned back in the seat and rested his head on the plush head rest. This was the life, even if the chauffeur was hostile as hell. Wilson snuck a peek over at the man who was supposed to be his friend. He didn't seem too hostile now. Wilson decided to take a chance.

"Why are you driving me home? I didn't think you liked me too much right now."

"That's where you've made the wrong assumption; I've never liked you." House saw the hurt look out of the corner of his eye and felt regret since this was not his Jamie; this was not the man who would understand his sarcasm and the foundations that it rested upon. House sighed and said, "Sorry, I forgot that you don't remember my fantastic, sarcastic repartee."

Wilson said nothing, merely dropped his head to his chest for a moment then looked up at the profile of the enigma beside him. "You think I'm lying don't you; you think I'm doing this to get back at you for some reason?"

House hesitated briefly then uttered, "Everyone lies, Wilson; I have never known you to lie to me, except about sleeping with Cuddy and a few other bimbos . . . not that Cuddy is a bimbo . . . just an exhibitionist, but who's complaining about that?"

James Wilson's eyes were now standing wide open; his handsome face agog with the recent information. "I'm . . . I'm sleeping with Cuddy? I may be having memory problems, but somehow I know I would remember that . . . besides, it's not Cuddy that I'm having problems remembering."

As Gregory House pulled into the driveway of Wilson's apartment, his bearded face turned sad, "Ah yes, and there in lies the tale."

"What's that mean?"

House shut off the ignition and slowly turned his head towards his friend. His blue eyes spoke volumes about the despair he felt, "Why is it, Dr. Wilson that you don't remember me?"

End of part 5


	6. Chapter 6

Title: The Essence of Friendship, part 6

By: lbc

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: for mature adults

Genre: pre-slash

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these guys.

Words:

Summary: House and Wilson talk.

James Wilson continued to stare at the man in the seat next to him. His brown eyes twinkled for a moment before he responded to House's question about why Wilson didn't remember him. "And here I thought you were the great diagnostician; oh well, I'll give you a hint: A-M-N-E-S-I-A. Have you heard of it? I'm sure they covered it at our _alma mater._

"Very funny, Wilson, but as I remember it, amnesia isn't usually so selective; why don't you remember me?"

"Good question. Since you have such a perfect memory, maybe you can tell me what reasons I might have for forgetting you. You're planning to go to Florida, aren't you? Maybe there's something in that."

At these words, Greg House got out of the Lexus and headed towards the front door of Wilson's condo, leaving Wilson in the car. After staring at the retreating man for a moment, Wilson got out and followed. By the time that he got to the door, House had already entered, quickly depositing Wilson's extra goods on the entrance way table.

Wilson slowly followed the older man into the huge living room. Looking around he quickly discovered that House was not there, but he could hear noise coming from the kitchen area. Within seconds Gregory House reappeared, holding one glass of water and one can of beer.

"Jeez, Wilson, you need to go shopping. Your cupboards, not to mention your beer cache, are sadly depleted."

James Wilson continued to stare at the slender man who was now slouched across the comfortable sofa. "Make yourself at home, please do. Are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Well, as I remember it, I like beer too. Weren't you taught to share, especially since it's my beer?"

"Oh, naughty, naughty Doctor. You have a concussion. No booze for you, but I did remember to bring you a glass of wa-wa so that you can down that pain pill that you're ready for."

"I am NOT ready for a pain pill!" Even though my head is killing me.

House repeatedly crossed his two forefingers much as children do when they try to tell another child that he has done something wrong. "Naughty, naughty again. I'm going to have to keep a slate board with a list of all your fibs."

Wilson looked totally frustrated at the way this conversation was going, but was determined not to back down to this . . . stranger. For some reason, that thought made Wilson's head hurt even more. He felt overcome with desolation that he might have lost the memories that had made the man in front of him, his friend.

Swaying slightly, James Wilson walked over to the large chair and collapsed into it. "All right, I've got a headache, and you're doing nothing to help it. I want some answers from you."

In a mock-pouty voice House immediately declared, "That's not fair, I asked you first."

Wilson raised his head that now felt like a ton weight and tried to focus his thoughts. "What did we fight about?"

"How do you know we did.?"

"Well, you are going to Florida, did I get mad because you were leaving?"

"Wait a minute, let's get this straight. I am NOT going to Florida. I wouldn't work for Charles Taylor if he could get me front row seats to ALL of the monster machine exhibitions."

"Well, then why did Chuck stop by and tell me that he was headed to Florida to convince his clinic board to give you a job?"

House closed his blue eyes momentarily then wiped his hand across his face. Staring straight into the questioning brown eyes, House's voice took on a glacial look as he said, "BECAUSE, Dr. Wilson I wanted to stop you from making an ass of yourself by going to Florida as his "Perfect Oncologist".

Wilson's forehead wrinkled in consternation as he tried to recall what had happened in the previous days. Many of his memories were clouded with the fog of his concussion, but he knew that he had not agreed to go to Florida - - in fact, just the opposite. "What are you talking about, House? I'm not going to Florida."

"You're damn right you're not. I told Taylor that and made it very clear that he wasn't to ask you again unless he wanted a well-used cane up his nose."

"What? Are you insane? I never told Chuck that I was going to Florida; he called and asked me to, but I refused. I recommended Bill Matthews and that's all there was. You're the one going to Florida!"

Finally . . . finally, James Wilson had managed to render House speechless. The frosty blue eyes studied the man across the room to determine their verisimilitude; then the scruffy faced man dropped his head back on the sofa and sighed. "Oh great, now you tell me."

"What's that supposed to mean? If we were friends, it seems to me that it was you who were keeping some things from me, NOT the other way around."

House's stomach did roller coaster flip flops as they had now come to the heart of what endangered their friendship. In a small, whisper, House said, "Jamie, you have to understand I thought you were leaving . . . leaving to go to Florida."

"What's that supposed to mean when it's at home?'

"I lied to Taylor. I told him that I wanted to work for him, but I didn't want you to be the new oncologist on the staff." In for a penny, in for a pound, House. You and your big mouth.

Wilson sat there stunned. His world seemed to be falling apart. "Why . . . why would you do that . . . if . . . we were friends?"

House closed his eyes and let his shoulders slouch even further into the incredibly comfortable sofa, one that Wilson had slept on several times, insisting that House needed the bed in the master bedroom when he had slept over. House's heart ached for the memory of those times. Then he spoke, "Listen to me, I know your brain isn't exactly percolating at full throttle so I'll spell it out. I never wanted to go to Florida, but you told me just a few nights ago that you were offered a position in Florida with Chuckie-boy, and I didn't want you to go. So, I cooked up this scheme where I wanted to go to Florida to work in his clinic, but I wouldn't do so IF you were going along as the new oncologist. You see I didn't know about Bill Matthews or your refusal, now do you understand?"

Wilson sat pondering the situation for several seconds then frowned and looked at the scruffy man who was slouched all over his sofa. He felt some affection for the man, but doubt and confusion overrode everything else. Part of his life was missing and he had to know the truth.

"Why didn't you just ask me if I was going to Florida, instead of doing all that?"

Now House's face looked like a bearded basset hound with its eyes drooping in sadness. If House's stomach had been flip flopping before, it was doing callisthenics now. He had hoped that Wilson wouldn't ask that question, but it couldn't be avoided. Might as well tell the truth . . . sort of.

"I was angry when I heard that you had been offered a job in another place. You said you had an appointment with Cuddy in the morning and that Taylor was flying in. I put two and two together and figured that you had already accepted the job, so I spoke out in anger. You got huffy about what I said and walked out. I never got a chance to say anymore until the next day and by then I had my little plan hatching."

The younger man nodded then sat there contemplating the scenario that House had just presented. The older man sat there, hoping that Wilson would be content with that explanation, but as fate would have it, Wilson was not content and asked, "And just what was it that I got huffy about?"

House put all his weight on his cane and stood up, heading for the bathroom. "Excuse me, I have to go to the potty. How about getting me another beer . . . just me, remember, I'm not sharing."

House was gone for several minutes. Wilson had dutifully wandered to the frig and gotten a beer for his . . . what? He couldn't honestly say that House was his friend, but there was certainly something there. Why was House so reluctant to tell him what he had said that had started this whole thing?

Wilson was almost asleep in his chair by the time the tired-faced doctor returned. Wilson looked up in time to see a look of hope on the scruffy face that turned to disappointment when Wilson's brown eyes opened and stared at him. Wilson smiled slightly, "Hoping I had fallen asleep, huh?"

"Look, is there someone I can call so that you won't be alone? I guess I should have told your parents to come over, but I didn't think you would want them to come . . . in case you DIDN'T remember them."

"That really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Well, it's not everyday that one's best friend looks at him and shuts him out of his life."

Wilson sat silently thinking this over. "Yeah, but it's a lot of my life that's gone. You remember me. How do you know my parents?"

"Well, duh, I've known you for . . . a long time so why shouldn't you have taken me home to meet the folks, you weren't ASHAMED of me, then."

"Listen, I'm not doing this deliberately. Stacy said you could be a real asshole, and I guess she's right."

House immediately sat up straight, staring at the brown-eyed man, "How do you know, Stacy? I know Stacy so that should make her _verboten _to your legendary memory."

Wilson frowned, "Well, it could be that I met her several years ago at a 'Medicine and The Law' seminar, and I remember her from that. Why is it such a big deal?"

"When was this?"

"You're asking a man who has amnesia?"

"Well give it a shot, oh legendary attendee of seminars."

"All right. My wife didn't want me to go." Wilson, at his most handsome, looked up at the older man and smiled, "I did have a wife, and she wanted me to paint the bathroom or something that weekend, but I went anyway. Stacy was there, and we got to talking. That's all. Oh no, that's not right. She mentioned that she knew someone that I knew and we spent an hour or so talking, but then we had separate lectures to go to, and I didn't see much more of her. Can't remember who we both knew."

Silence pervaded the room as Wilson sat there thinking, and House sat there, hoping. Finally, Wilson looked up and dropped his mouth open as if an epiphany had hit him. "There's only one mental block in my mind now. You know Stacy, don't you?"

House said nothing, just waited. Even with Wilson's brain functioning on half power, he was still the genius that House had fallen in love with 18 years before.

"Why do you limp?"

House's head flew up as if he had just received a whiplash, "Now where did that come from?"

"Answer the question."

"I had an infarction in my leg five years ago, and I've limped ever since." House's eyes had turned to ice. "You got any other questions?"

"Were you with Stacy at that time?"

"God, you don't give up, do you Wilson?"

The brown hair fell forward onto his forehead as the man swished his head back and forth. "Not when it's my life that's involved. You weren't surprised about my wife, and you know my parents, and you obviously know Stacy, how hard is it to figure out that's what you're hiding."

"I'm not hiding anything; you're the one who can't remember me, remember?"

Wilson laughed with no humor whatsoever. "We always come back to that, don't we?

I can't remember you so I'm at fault. You scare away Chuck Taylor; you walk out on me at the hospital; I have to pry the information about Stacy out of you, and you say you insulted me so that we had a fight, and you criticize me for not remembering you? That's really great."

"Yeah, well that's life, live with it."

"Well then tell me this: why would I even be your friend if you feel like that?"

House's voice dripped with his sarcastic best, "Well, I didn't make that choice, if you want to know why you're my friend then you'll just have to REMEMBER me."

Wilson felt moisture in his eyes; he nodded silently. Even though he was no longer in tune with the man across the room, he could hear the agony in the words; the devastation that the man was feeling that his friend had forgotten him.

"Yeah, well I guess maybe I'm not such a great friend either."

Both men dropped their heads and sat silently for several minutes then House stood up, saying, "You sure are a poor host; I need another beer."

Wilson looked up, "Who said I was your host? You don't need to stay. I'm fine."

House turned back around and stared, while leaning heavily on his cane, exhaustion on his face, "Oh no, my dear Dr. Wilson, that supreme physician with the low-cut blouses, whose every word drips of medical know-how, issued an edict that you were not to be alone for the next day, and I take my Hypocritic Oath very solemnly. You had your chance with mum and dad so now it's me. I think you better get some sleep before than brain of yours implodes."

Wilson nodded, feeling very tired, but he had to know one more thing before he went to bed. "Okay, but I want to ask you another question."

"What is this, twenty questions?"

"No, this will be enough for the moment. "Why do you call me, Jamie; nobody else does?"

House's heart dropped; would sarcasm suffice this time?

"Well, what do you want me to call you, Jimmy like your good buddy Chuckie-poo does?"

"No, I've never really liked that, but Jamie seems to bring something to the back of my mind. You never really told me what you said that got me all in a huff."

"You said, just one more question. Go to bed."

"Suppose I refuse to? I want to know why you don't like Chuck, and why you call me Jamie?"

Perhaps it was the long day; perhaps it was the fact that James Wilson did not recognize him; perhaps, it was the need to see his old Jamie again, but Gregory House decided to push the situation or divert it, depending on how lucky he was.

"Did you sleep with Chuck Taylor?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question - - now answer it."

For a moment, anger rose in the brown eyes then icicles appeared, "If it's any of your business, I did . . . a few times . . . nothing big. I felt such . . . loss, such pain that I needed some warmth . . . some comfort. Chuck was there, but what business is it of yours?"

"That's what I asked you the night we had the fight, and you got mad and walked out."

"Well, why would you care if I slept with another man; are you a homophobe or something?"

Wilson looked into the shuddered blue eyes and saw the lack of prejudice, but something else was lurking there.

"I was afraid that you were selling yourself to him just to get away from me, so I retaliated with the accusation. You're too good a doctor to do that."

Wilson blinked his eyes several times as if he couldn't quite believe the direction the conversation had taken. "I don't need to defend my actions: I turned down his offer, and I slept with him . . . well 17 years ago now, so mind your own business. Now, I'd like to go to bed. Take the sofa, if you want."

James Wilson headed for the bedroom then stopped. He turned, his face a picture of anguish, he stared into the face of a concerned House and whispered, "Chuck said to me that he had heard that you and I were close when we were in Med School. I went with Chuck because . . . I was feeling so lost." Wilson dropped his head for a moment then raised his head, his tortured eyes blazing out his feelings. "It was you, wasn't it? That's why you were so concerned about Chuck and me? We were lovers, weren't we? That's what this has been all about?"

Greg House stood there, closing his eyes for a moment; then he nodded his head to acknowledge the truth of the question. Opening his blue eyes, he looked at the younger man who had collapsed back on the sofa. James Wilson sat there slouched over clutching his stomach and ribs as if he were holding his feelings inside of him. Then he whispered, "Will you please get out of here?"

Gregory House felt nothing. His heart had stopped. He turned and left the apartment.

End of part 6


	7. Chapter 7

Title: The Essence of Friendship, part 7

By: lbc

Pairing: House and Wilson

Rating: For mature adults

Genre: slash

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters.

Words: 2477

Summary: House messes up.

James Wilson sat on the sofa for several minutes. When he heard a sound outside of his door, he looked at his watch and realized that he had been sitting there for more than a half hour. His mind felt numb; he hurt all over, and what hurt worst of all was that he had discovered that 18 years before he had slept with a man, the man who had become his best friend. Why would he do that? It was obvious that House had left, and Wilson had stayed. Why would he want to have anything to do with a man like that?

Another noise - - a human noise - - interrupted Wilson's thoughts. Closing his eyes in exhaustion, Wilson got up and started towards the door. He looked out the privacy window but saw nothing. Starting to turn and head to bed, he heard the sound again. Carefully unlocking the door, Wilson peeked out and looked around at the landing leading to his condo. Wilson almost groaned as he saw the hunched-over, painfully thin back of Gregory House. House was sitting on the top step, outside Wilson's door . . . sitting as if he were on guard duty.

Wilson shook his head and asked in a moderate tone, "What are you doing out there at this time, you moron?"

"I'm keeping my promise to Cuddy, to stay with you for 24 hours, and I'm not a moron. An imbecile, yes, but not a moron." House's voice level was only a few decibels above an incoming jet fighter so Wilson was thankful that he was the only resident on this floor.

"Will you quiet down, you cretin. It's after midnight."

"We guardians never sleep so that doesn't make any difference to me."

House continued to sit there, with his back towards Wilson. It was obvious that he was in pain as he was rubbing his injured leg. James Wilson badly wanted to slam the door on this man who had hurt him so badly - - even if Wilson couldn't remember all the hurt, but instead he opened the door wider and said, "Come in here, you idiot, before someone calls the police and hauls you away as a stalker."

For a minute, Wilson thought that House would not move but then the diagnostician shoved himself up on his good leg, turned and walked into the condo. After entering, he stopped as if he wasn't sure whether he was allowed to enter the master's domain or should just bed down, like a wet puppy, in the foyer.

"Get your ass into the living room. Why didn't you call a taxi and go home like any sane human being?"

"There you go assuming again."

"Well, I'm too tired to fence with you. There's the sofa; you probably know where the bed linen is - - use them or don't, good night."

James Wilson headed towards the bedroom. This had been a lousy couple of days and now he had Mr. Pain-In-The-Butt, sleeping on his sofa. As he walked past the sofa, he noticed how narrow it was. It was comfortable, but for a man with a bum leg, it might not be the best.

James Wilson stopped and turned around, carefully. By now he was feeling rather shaky himself. "Is that sofa all right with you? . . . I mean with your leg and all."

Once again, House was wearing his bearded basset hound look. The poor thing looked like he was carrying the weight of the world. "Sure, it's okay. Thanks."

Wilson threw up his hands and said, "All right; I'll sleep on the sofa; you take the bed."

House gave him a sheepish, pleased grin then said, "You should really sleep in your bed; your body won't get a lot of support from that sofa; I've slept there before."

Wilson squinted his eyes in disbelief. /He had actually made the man sleep on the sofa . . . with that leg/ "Are you sure about that?"

"Well, it sounded good; besides you're a very good doctor, what would you recommend to an individual with an infarction-injured leg or to another person with a concussion and enough bruises to cover the Leaning Tower of Pisa - - a bed or a sofa?"

Now House gave Wilson his most engaging, innocent smile. "I promise to stay on my own side of the bed."

Wilson shook his head slowly, rubbed his aching head, and whispered, "Come on."

"Oooooohhhh, I get the bed; I get the bed!"

As James Wilson walked to the bedroom, he shook his head in bemusement, "Why does anyone put up with you?"

"They don't; they just tolerate me." Wilson turned minutely to sneak a peek at the man with the cane to see if he was serious. It was readily obvious that House was which made Wilson rather sad as he thought about it. He analyzed the statement and the face that went along with it, "That's not true. You're world famous . . . according to Chuck, anyway."

"Don't mention that jerk."

"He's not so bad; he's spoiled and egotistical, but then the same could be said for you."

"I am not spoiled, except maybe by you, sometimes . . . and sometimes by your parents - - they like me."

"Why do you suppose that is?"

House smirked as if the answer was obvious, "I always figured it was because they compared me to you, and I came up the winner, every time."

"Oh brother, I sure was right about your ego."

"Oh sure, the fair-haired, brown eyed darling of the nursing staff talks about ego."

"What's that mean?

"Well, I'd really love to discuss your lascivious ways, but not right now. Right now, I need a bed and a Vicodin, and not necessarily in that order."

James Wilson suddenly saw the image of the hunched over figure sitting on his top step, rubbing his leg. "Sorry, do you know where everything is?"

House started towards the bathroom, "Yeah, can I use your toothbrush; it's so much better than the ones you hand out to overnight guests."

"Definitely not. Besides, I strongly suspect you probably have your own in there if you stay over as often as you seem to indicate."

"Well really, James," House said, in mock horror. "You were a married man . . . until recently. I don't do threesomes."

Wilson rolled his eyes and yelled out, "Will you please get done in there? Some of us want to go to bed."

House came out wearing a t-shirt and some faded sweat pants. "Well, so do I!" House shot his eyebrows up and down lasciviously but said nothing further, just climbed into the side of bed away from the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Wilson came out in much the same gear as House. He slipped into bed, moving carefully so that he wouldn't jar House's bad leg even though he was lying on House's left side.

Both men laid on their backs, the blackness was intense, immediately after the lights were turned off, but soon, the room lightened up a bit. There was tension between the two men, but it was not overly uncomfortable. Nothing was said for several minutes, but finally House whispered, "Go to sleep, James."

Wilson cleared his throat and replied, "You really miss him, don't you?"

"Who?"

Wilson hesitated; there seemed to be a catch in his words, "Your Jamie. I don't remember you, so I can't be the friend you remember and need."

House felt his heart almost curdle up. The sense of loss was overwhelming, and yet it wasn't Wilson's fault that he couldn't remember the man or the friendship . . . after all, who was it who had driven Wilson away? Who was it that had piled hurt upon hurt upon the younger man to . . . do what . . . test his friendship . . . his loyalty?

House sighed deeply, listening for Wilson's even breathing. House kept looking at the darkened ceiling when suddenly he felt a warmth that he hadn't felt in 17 years. James Wilson had shifted, oh so slightly, to his right and now rested in right shoulder against House's left. Neither man said a thing, but suddenly sleep rose up to overwhelm both men.

Several hours later, James Wilson opened one eye and saw that it was daylight. The place in the bed next to him was empty. He felt a sense of disappointment, of failure. What Greg House had chosen not to do the previous evening, he had done readily in the light of day - - abandoned his friend, James Wilson.

Wilson got up to go to the bathroom. He had a small, nagging headache, but nothing he couldn't deal with. It was his heart that was causing him problems. He couldn't remember the scruffy-faced doctor; he wasn't even sure if he liked him, but now that he was gone - - he missed him.

Wilson went out to try and scare up something for breakfast, but found that the cupboard was indeed bare, except for one battered can of beer. Wilson sat down at the kitchen table and stared into space; then he heard the key in the door, and the most beautiful words in the English language. "Whoo! Hoo! Honey, I'm home!"

Wilson almost rushed to the living room to see Greg House carrying a large bag of groceries. He stood there feasting his eyes at the sight of the man that he had thought had left him. He found his voice and asked, "What's all this?"

House looked at him with a look as if he were talking to a three year old and said, "You're some host. I went out and got some food so that we wouldn't starve. There's another bag downstairs in your car. It's a little difficult for Superman here to manage."

Wilson rushed downstairs to get the other bag, taking the steps two at a time so that he wouldn't keep the cantankerous man waiting. Rushing back in, Wilson began emptying his bag of groceries. "I'll pay you back." He stopped at that point as he noticed that the sack contained three six-packs of beer. "Isn't this a bit much? I can't drink liquor for a few more days."

Once again, House looked at the younger man as if he were in the presence of a moron, "Well, I like that. Here I am, standing bodyguard and security, and you won't even provide me with the basic sustenance of life? Fine person, you are."

Wilson looked slightly abashed, "Oh, Sorry, I thought you would be leaving today so I didn't think about extra food. I usually send for take-out. Don't do much cooking."

"You don't have to tell me that; I remember your one attempt at Duck à l'Orange, only it wasn't duck, and it certainly wasn't orange by the time you got done with it."

"My wife did the cooking; I just sort of improvised."

"Well, thanks for mentioning your wife; that really makes me feel good."

"Why?"

"Well, as has been hinted so many times, I was kind of responsible for break-up number two, and Julie was so fond of me that she could have cheerfully fed me arsenic and strychnine and laughed as I was breathing my last gasps."

The space between Wilson's eyes wrinkled as he didn't seem to understand, "Why didn't she like you . . . I mean you have a wonderful, heart warming, congenial personality; why wouldn't she want you around?"

House gave his friend a glare that said that he was trying to show patience with this man whose IQ didn't reach double digits. "Well, she said . . . quite falsely, of course . . . that you spent more time with me than with her. Of course, nobody kept a record of total actual minutes so it could have been true, but I doubt it."

"Oh."

"Is that all you can say?"

"Well, I don't actually remember much of that so who am I to say? I can't really understand why I would spend a lot of time with you; what did I get out of it?"

"Oh, that's my James, always wanting more and more from my sweet, giving nature."

Wilson cast him a look that said, sure pull the other one and then verbalized his disbelief, "Well, I only have your word for that, so that doesn't get us anywhere. Don't you have to go to work or something?"

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Well . . . yes. I don't want Cuddy to get mad at me or you. Besides,I thought I'd go see my parents for a couple of days; I've got a lot to think about."

House had been preparing to stand up but those final words caused him to sit back down. "What are you talking about?"

"Have you forgotten; I have amnesia and part of my life is gone. I thought if I went and visited my parents that might help; besides, I'm thinking of taking a leave of absence."

"What the hell for? You said you were okay. You've got another five days of sick leave. Why are you rushing it?"

"Well, if I were Cuddy, I would be reluctant to have a man as Head of Oncology who can't even remember his best friend. Who knows if one day, I'll be in the clinic and suddenly find out I can't remember the correct treatment for Takayasu Arteritis."

"That's nonsense."

"Well, thank you very much, Dr. Diagnostician, but you aren't the one with the faulty memory, I am. I think a leave of absence might be a good idea."

"What, you going to run away, again? Going to go to Florida and let Chuckie-baby hold your hand. After all you remember HIM. Bet you also remember sleeping with him."

Wilson's brown eyes flickered as if he had been dealt a mortal wound, but he maintained his dignity, "Thank you, Dr. House, for that revealing statement about your character. Now, will you get out; I want to be alone."

House looked totally disgusted but whether at Wilson or himself, the younger man couldn't determine. House leaned on his cane and stood up, moving towards the door. Just before he went through the open door, he turned and looked at Wilson. "You were right; you sure aren't my Jamie."

As the door closed, James Wilson sat there numb, vowing to stay out of Greg House's presence, even if he had to move to Alaska.

End of part 7


	8. Chapter 8

Title: The Essence of Friendship, part 8a

By: lbc

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: mature adults

Genre: definitely slash

Disclaimer: I wish I owned these characters.

Words: 3375

Summary: Wilson has a revelation.

Note: Parts 8a and 8b complete the story.

House walked into Princeton-Plainsboro later that same afternoon. It was strange for a man who professed to not like patients to still be drawn to the large, almost sterile building . . . maybe because it was here that he felt he accomplished something, because certainly in his personal life, he was fielding a total disaster.

He knew why he had uttered those words to the man, suffering from amnesia. It seemed as if he could not contain his jealousy, and the mere thought that James Wilson would leave him was unthinkable. Why had he condemned the man for not being his Jamie - - he was James Wilson, and just because he didn't remember House, did that mean that they couldn't have a future?

Wearily, House limped towards his office. He purposely did not look around so that he could avoid looking at the office next door which belonged to James Wilson. The younger doctor had never said it, but House knew that he had cut a deal with Cuddy to take over that office so that he could be close by House. House, so often, needed to talk to his friend that it was logical to have them close together. It was just one more way that James Wilson proved his loyalty and friendship, and yet . . . House had thrown that back in Wilson's face only hours before.

Sitting in his office, trying to mesmerize himself with his video games, House barely noticed the figure of Lisa Cuddy walk in, but finally House looked up a moment before the administrator could hide her concern.

"What are you doing here?"

"Hmmm, is that a deep philosophical question that seeks to know why I was put on this earth or do you mean the more mundane, 'What are you doing here?'

Lisa Cuddy screwed up her pretty face into a look of frustrated patience. "I MEANT, you were supposed to be staying with Dr. Wilson so that you could observe him after his concussion, why have you left him?"

House's blue eyes turned cold, his words dripping with sarcasm, "Dr. Wilson doesn't seem to need me anymore. He's planning on visiting his parents, and perhaps asking for a leave of absence, in preparation for leaving completely."

"What . . . what did he say?"

"He seems to think that he's unable to function to his complete satisfaction, and what is even more relevant, he thinks that he cannot meet your rigid requirements, so he's thinking of leaving."

"I see. Well, I can talk to him about that and correct his mistaken impression, but that still doesn't answer my question, 'Why did you leave? It's not like you to show up here when you could have been with your best buddy and a 48 inch plasma."

Greg House's eyebrows shot up, "I won't ask how you know that James has a 48 inch plasma, but everyone knows that I am dedicated to my work . . . and I'm not so sure that he's my best friend."

Now it was Cuddy's turn to open her eyes wide with her eyebrows up in the air. "Don't kid me, House. Remember I was here six years ago when you were in the hospital. That man practically lived here while you were recovering; he kept you alive, and you damn well know it, so what's going on?"

"How can I have a best friend, who doesn't remember me?"

Cuddy shook her long dark hair, "You might better spend your time, asking what might be some of the causes for him not remembering you."

"I have."

Cuddy almost asked what those causes were but stopped as she saw the deep despair in the blue eyes. It was obvious that House was in pain and not just from his injured leg. The small woman turned and headed towards the door. She turned, however, and said,

"I guess I'll have to call him and see if he makes more sense than you do."

"Yeah, and I would be very interested in the whole lurid story about how you know about his 48 inch plasma."

House was not assigned to anything due to Cuddy's mistaken impression that the diagnostician would spend the day with Wilson. An interesting case came in but was soon put in the "resolved column". The ducklings avoided House as if he suffered from the plague, and that's the way Greg House liked it. There was only one person on earth whose interruptions he never minded, and that man couldn't remember him.

By 5:00 pm Greg House was ready to call it a day - - a very ugly day when Lisa Cuddy, once again, walked into his office.

"I've been trying off and on over the last couple of hours to reach Dr. Wilson. There's been no answer."

House's head lay on the back of his plush chair. He was dead tired; his eyes were closed, and he really didn't want to hear about James Wilson at that moment, but he murmured, "Maybe he's out with one of the 2222 babes in his little black book."

"I doubt that with his concussion. If I were leaving the hospital right now, I'd drive by there and check, but . . ."

House raised his head and looked at the woman whose life he made so miserable . . . and enjoyed every minute of it. He kept telling himself that it was his revenge for Lisa Cuddy's part in leaving him an in-pain cripple, but he silently acknowledged that it was more likely his insane need to taunt those that might come close to him.

"Oh very good, Dr. Cuddy. I'd give you an A for your dedication, but an F for subtlety. I am not going to go check on Wilson."

"All right; I'll ask Dr. Cameron. She lives somewhere near there."

/Well, well, Dr. Chest of the Year knows where Dr. "I Can Fix Anything" lives/

"Forget it; I've got work for Cameron to do."

"What work; you don't have any cases at the moment?"

House dropped his chin but raised his eyes. In a much deeper voice he purred with innuendo, "I don't tell you everything."

Cuddy grimaced, "You sure got that right. All right, all right. Forget it. Let the man who saved your life, rot. If you don't care, neither do I."

Greg House knew that wasn't true, but neither was it true that he didn't care; he loved James Wilson, and he wished that he had remembered that when he had been with the man.

"All right; all right, I will go see Wilson, but it will cost you two hours off my clinic duty for this week."

Cuddy put her small hands on her hips and stared then with teeth together, forced out, "One hour and that's non-negotiable."

"Done, now if you will take your gorgeous hips, turn ever so slowly and wiggle out of here, I'll be on my way."

The glare that Cuddy gave to House would have cut through steel, but as she continued out the door, she wiggled her hips to House's delight.

HWHWHWHWHWHWHWH

House hadn't been able to get out of the hospital quite as fast as he had hoped so it was now better than five hours since he had walked out on James Wilson. Standing in front of the younger doctor's door, House hesitated. What kind of reception was he going to receive? He knocked and waited . . . and waited. He had asked at the entrance security desk and Dr. Wilson was definitely in.

Pounding on the door, he still received no answer, so he did what any red-blooded, snarky genius would do; he used the extra key that James Wilson had given him years before. Entering, he looked around. The condo was silent and seemed to be deserted. There was no noise. House carefully searched the large apartment, finding nothing . . . until he reached the extra bedroom which Wilson fondly called his den. House looked in and there in the failing light of early evening sat James Wilson . . . on the floor, clutching a framed picture and a piece of paper. The beautiful face was covered in tear streaks; his eyes were red, and his usual perfect appearance was badly disheveled.

House stared for several seconds; Wilson didn't even seem to know he was there. The silence became so heavy that House was going to speak when he suddenly noticed the subject of the photo. Approaching quietly, House said, "That was taken in Atlantic City two years ago. Didn't know you kept it."

Wilson said nothing for a moment then replied, "I didn't; he did."

House closed his eyes in anguish. Taking a very deep breath, he tried to keep his voice steady, "You are him. I was wrong."

"What are you doing here?"

"You haven't been answering your phone."

Wilson looked down at the photo and gently caressed it with his fingers. "I was trying to pack this room up a bit, and I found this. You two look so happy in it."

"Yeah, we drove down to Atlantic City; did some gambling and got drunk. Somewhere along the way we had that picture taken. We each got one."

"Do you still have yours?"

House had never made a big thing of keeping the photo, he supposed he had it somewhere, but it was obvious that Wilson had gone to the trouble to have it framed. "Yeah, I've got it; somewhere."

Wilson just nodded. House's leg was killing him so he sat down on a less than comfortable chair nearby his friend. "Why didn't you answer your phone or pager?"

"Don't need 'em. Talked to Mom; I'm going over there for a few days then maybe I can make a decision."

"I'm sorry for what I said, Jamie. It wasn't . . ."

"DON'T CALL ME THAT. You know damn well that I'm not him. You want him so bad, but you don't want me. At least, going somewhere else I can start again. Seeing that picture, I've finally remembered . . . one thing." House waited. "You asked me why I didn't remember you, of all people." House nodded. "Well, I do remember you, at least enough to know this; I loved you so much when I was in Med School; I felt like dying when you walked out without any real explanation. Chuck Taylor didn't mean anything to me, and the two or three times we had sex weren't all that great, but he was warm, and comforting, and I . . . needed that. I was 19, for God's sakes and you tore my heart out. You've heard my answer; now get the hell out of here."

Greg House carefully slid out of the chair, using his cane to lower himself to the floor to sit beside his friend. "In 17 years we've never talked about that. Didn't you once wonder what was going to happen when I graduated? Of course, you were on the fast track in Med School, but you were just starting; you knew you would have to stay there while I went on to my internship."

Sad, red eyes looked at House, "I would have gone with you, I think. I turned down Hopkins; they would have let me in."

House's whole body shrivelled inside. He lowered his head and rubbed his forehead, "I would have loved for you to have done that, but you were only 19; you needed to build your own life, not follow me around. You are the best doctor I know; I couldn't let you throw that away." House raised his head; the affection obvious in his eyes. "You must have hated me for leaving you; why did you answer my letter?'

The paper in his right head shook as Wilson's brown eyes studied House's scruffy face. "I found it."

"What?"

"The letter you wrote. It was stuck underneath this picture as if he . . . I put it there for some reason."

House took the letter from Wilson's slender fingers and read it quickly although he knew every word by heart:

_Jamie,_

_If you can ever forgive me, I would like to see you again, and in whatever time you choose, hopefully, find our lost friendship. If you would be willing, I will wait for a return letter. _

_Greg_

"I waited for three months, but you did answer, and we've been friends ever since."

"No . . . you've been friends with . . . him."

"Jamie, you are him; I was wrong. I have never stopped loving you. Not even when I was with Stacy."

"You don't love me now . . . I remember getting married, but I can't remember why I got divorced so many times. It must have had something to do with you. You've occupied the better part of my adult life, and I can't remember any of it, except for bits and pieces."

"How long have you been sitting here?"

Wilson started to shake his head but stopped as his head began to ache, much worse than the all too easily remembered migraines that he had sometimes. Instead he just mumbled, "Don't know."

"Come on; let's find someplace more comfortable so that we can talk. I don't want to lose you again." The two men helped each other stand up. Stiffness, bruises, and general fatigue all played a part in their exhaustion. "Have you eaten anything today?"

"No."

"How about you take a hot shower while I order some take-out then we'll relax and talk."

"Did you do that with him?"

"I've made myself a nuisance over here lots of times." Wilson gave the scruffy man a small smile and headed towards the bathroom.

/Well, at least, he didn't throw me out./ Twenty minutes later the food had arrived. James Wilson was just leaving the bathroom, still looking tired, but a bit more focussed. The two men sat in the living room and ate steadily, using the food to avoid talking. Finally, most of the food was gone. House shoved everything into paper bags and leaned back against the sofa. Before House could say anything, Wilson asked, for an unknown reason, "How old are you?"

House frowned, but answered, "46, and yes I robbed the cradle when I took you to bed."

"How come you chose me?"

House smiled affectionately, "Well, I walked into this get-together, anxious to see the boy genius that was tearing up the Med School. You were standing across the room. I walked over, said something about making your cool ass, hot and that was it."

Wilson looked sad. "You liked my ass, so we had sex for one year and then it was adios?"

"We never had sex."

"What?"

"I mean, we never had sex; we made love, right from the start - - at least on my part. I coveted your form, right away . . . as they say . . . somewhere. I've loved you for 18 years, Jamie, and you might have every reason to forget me, but I don't want to forget you, so I will fight to keep you with me. I kicked that Taylor's ass and I will do it to anybody else who tries to take you away from me. You're the only person who can do that. If you . . . really want to leave, I won't stop you."

"You tried to when Chuck seemed to be offering me a job."

"Yeah, well, you're too good of a doctor to go with the likes of him. Inside of a month, you would have been embarrassed even working for him, so I was just saving you the trouble."

"Does Chuck still think that you're going to Florida?"

House smiled evilly. "I don't think he does anymore. He called to ask me a few questions, so it gave me an opportunity to explain the facts of life to him. He definitely does not want anything to do with Gregory House now."

Suddenly, James Wilson burst out in laughter. It was so good to hear that sound that had been absent for several days. "Chuck helped me when I needed it, but I'm sure Daddy would not have been a happy camper if he had found out about us. Good thing we ended it pretty fast."

"Jamie, I am your friend, and I want to continue to be. We don't have to be bed mates. You don't remember me that well. You don't have to go away. We can build a new relationship. What do you say?"

For a few minutes, Wilson remained silent then he said, "I called my mom to let her know that I was better. I asked her if it was all right to come for a visit. She asked about you. I told her that I was thinking of taking an offer at some other hospital. We talked for a few minutes then she said the strangest thing."

House looked at his friend, the obvious strain showing at Wilson's recent words. "She said that she didn't want to interfere in my life, but she had to ask one thing." House nodded, but kept quiet. "She wanted to know why I was thinking of leaving PPTH. . . . After awhile I answered, I said that my amnesia was making me feel all strange, and that I felt like I was among strangers even though I remember most of the people at Princeton. The real trouble was that I didn't remember you, and I didn't think you needed me to be there so why not move on?"

" 'Oh, bubbala, you are so wrong, my son; that Dr. House has needed you since before you were born,' That's what she said."

A shiver overwhelmed Greg House. He had known as soon as he been introduced to Rebecca Wilson that she saw through to his heart. She had known immediately how Greg House had felt about her son, but she had said nothing. "Your mother is an amazing woman with a great son. I was 10 years old when you were born. One day, after we became friend we were visiting your folks, I sat down and talked with her. She had everything out of me in minutes. It isn't easy being the son of a military man who is hard-nosed and exacting. I've disappointed my father all my life. My mom gets along very well with yours. They call us, 'the boys', even now."

House sighed and stopped for a moment, thinking of those times when he felt such happiness in the Wilson home then he continued, "I was lonely even at the age of 10. I wanted to be a doctor not a military man and my father didn't understand. I grew up alone, and I basically stayed that way until one remarkable night when I was 28. For one year, you were everything to me . . . and then I had to give you up."

House stopped; he could not go further. James Wilson had moved closer to the slender framed man. Taking his right hand, he gently cupped House's chin so that he could look into the remarkable eyes. "Now I understand what she meant. Thank you."

House looked at his watch, "It's getting kind of late. You must be sick of me. I want you to think about what I said. I need you as my friend, but you call the shots. Let me know."

"You're . . . you're leaving me again?"

Suddenly, it was like a replay of that scene 17 years before, Greg House was walking out on him. James Wilson knew that he wasn't the same Jamie that had had to endure the pain and agony of his lost love, but his mind could not accept seeing the same man walk away again. Panic set in and blackness appeared before his eyes as he slumped to the ground in revolt against the loss.

End of part 8a


	9. Chapter 9

Title: The Essence of Friendship, part 8b

By: lbc

Pairing: House and Wilson

Rating: mature adults

Genre: slash all the way

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters.

Words: 2541

Summary: Wilson wakes up - - again.

Note: This finally concludes the story. I'm sure some of you will feel that I lost my House voice in this section. I am a hopeless romantic and believe that when House is with his Jamie that he is and can be tender and drop the sarcasm somewhat. That's just the way I see him and do not apologize for it.

James Wilson opened his eyes. His head wasn't lying on the ground. He was propped up on someone's thigh; there were arms wrapped around him, and the most soothing words were being uttered into his hair. Then . . . then he felt smooth, firm lips touch his forehead. He began to understand the words and recognized the voice . . . at least, he thought he recognized the voice.

Looking up he saw the scruffy face of the man, who minutes before was threatening to leave him. It had been so real . . . almost déjà vu. Wasn't this the man who had left him so long ago? The mere thought sent agony through the young doctor's interior. Was he going to have to go through all that pain again?

Finally, the voice seemed to realize that Wilson was awake. The arms which had been tightly woven around Wilson's body were now loosened, but the scruffy faced individual still held onto his precious bundle. Blue eyes were sparkling in uncertainty.

"Are you feeling dizzy?"

Wilson's eyes felt heavy, but he managed to concentrate on the person hovering over him by raising his eyes upward. Greg House was smiling shyly at him. "What . . . what happened?"

"You got upset over something I said, and you blacked out. Sort of a defense mechanism, wouldn't you say?"

"Why . . . why would I need a defense against you?"

"Do you remember who I am?"

"Sure, you're the guy who's holding me in his arms and says that he's my best friend - - only you're walking out on me, just like before."

"You remember that?"

"Guess that's why I blacked out. Why are you holding me?"

"Thought you might be open to shock, so I'm being a good doctor and preventing that."

Wilson smiled then started to get up. "Thoughtful of you."

"That's me, Dr. Gregory House, superior bedside manner as well as superior imbecile."

Wilson helped House get up off the floor then swayed slightly himself. "Sorry, just a little shaky."

"Sit down and relax. You probably are dehydrated; I'll get you some water."

Wilson sat quietly on the sofa, rubbing his head. He seemed to be having flashbacks of things that he wasn't sure he remembered. Obviously House was tied up in everything, but he couldn't say that he totally remembered the man.

House handed him the water then headed towards the door. Wilson stopped drinking, drew in his breath and seemed to wait. "You going to leave me again?"

"Thought that's what you wanted."

"So you're a mind reader too?"

"No, it's just that I've been pretty rough on you lately, so I thought maybe you were finished with me."

"Is that what you want?"

"No." The single syllable was said quietly and a little hopefully."

Wilson studied the man across the room then asked, "Do you want to sleep with me?"

"Yes."

"Why were you leaving then?"

House tried to stand upright, but his leg was hurting and his mind was confused. "I . . . I thought you . . . well, you don't remember me. I didn't want to do something that you'd hate me for later. You've hated me enough for a lifetime."

"I . . . hate you?"

"I've always imagined you did, after I left you; you see I never told you the truth."

"The truth?"

"All my life it's been easier to push people away. I left you so that you could get on with your life; only I couldn't stay away from you - - that's why I wrote the letter."

"Letter?" Then Wilson's brain remembered the short letter that he had found stuffed behind a picture of the two friends in Atlantic City. "Right. My memory seems to be coming back in small bits."

House nodded; his face a mask of exhaustion. "You only know me from what you've seen in the last few days. That hasn't been very good. You said that you were going to see your parents and then think about what to do next. I want to give you that time. No pressure, no demands. I just want you to be sure if you stay here; I'm not likely to change, but I can try."

"Cameron wants you to change; she wants to fix you."

Greg House stood staring at his friend, speechless. Finally, he moved closer as he asked, "You remember Cameron?"

"Sure, she thinks that she's in love with you; she thinks you're broken."

House put his free hand up to briefly caress Wilson's cheek. "Do you honestly remember that or did Cameron just tell you something of that nature?"

For a moment Wilson looked puzzled then his brown eyes lit up in understanding, "I . . . I had forgotten Cameron, and now I remember her . . . well, at least, I remember that she had a date . . . no two dates with you."

House's scruffy face immediately took exception to that characterization. "She did not; if you hadn't been meeting Stacy on the side, WE would have gone to the Monster Machines Show!"

"I'm meeting Stacy on the side; what about her husband?" Wilson screwed up his handsome face and rubbed his temple, "How much truth are you telling me here? You've accused me of sleeping with Cuddy, Stacy, and lord who knows who else? Is this jealousy or am I a promiscuous profligate?"

"You're definitely that. You should see your little black book, but the point is that you're not sleeping with the RIGHT person."

"Oh . . . Well, do you want to audition for the part?"

"Stop it, Jamie. I will not sleep with you, just to prove we can do it."

The sad brown eyes looked affectionately into blue ones. "I've got a monster headache; my stomach feels queasy, and I'm cold; are those enough symptoms that the good Dr. House would consent to give me his legendary bedside manner?"

House looked wary, but asked, "What's that mean?"

"It's late; I'm tired, and I would like very much for the man who is my best friend, even if I can't remember him to lie down beside me in my bed, and maybe give me some comfort."

House dropped his head to look at the floor then mumbled, "Just comfort, nothing else."

Wilson smiled, "Thanks, I appreciate it."

The two men made their way to Wilson's bedroom. House moved to the bedside then turned to look at Wilson who stood near the door, totally nude. House's eyebrows shot up, "I thought you said this was to sleep?"

"We are; I just like to sleep in the nude."

"No, you don't. You wear your perfectly matched pajamas and tie, even to bed."

Wilson grimaced, giving the man a glare like 'you're a moron.' "I do not. I like to be comfortable, but if it bothers you; I'll put on my briefs."

House looked at the beautiful body and whispered, "I can take it if you can."

Wilson slid into bed while House removed his jeans and shirts. During the exhibition, Wilson laid there with his arms folded under his head, "Gee, aren't you the brave one."

"A little less sarcasm, or I won't sleep with you."

"You're not sleeping with me; you're just SLEEPING with me."

"Well, that made it clear. Now, close those big brown eyes and get some rest."

"Will you sing me a lullaby?"

"I do not do torture."

"Read me a story?"

"Get an audio book."

"Kiss me good night?"

"Well . . ."

"Thanks."

"You're spoiled."

"Am not; how about a replay?"

"Go to sleep, Dr. Wilson."

"Nighty night, Greggy-poo."

"Wilson, so help me . . ." There was no response, however, because James Wilson had fallen asleep and stayed asleep for exactly . . . one hour.

The younger man suddenly sat up in bed; looked over at the man next to him and smiled. Leaning over he gave the scruffy cheek a small kiss then cuddled up closer to the slender body. In the depth of Greg House's sleep, it felt perfectly natural to have the warmth, comfort, and scent of James Wilson near by. House's brain might have been sleeping, but his instincts were up to par as he slid his left arm around the cuddled up body, pulling it closer. Both men sank deeper into slumber . . . for another hour.

Greg House's eyes suddenly shot open as his subconscious recognized the feel of the warm body practically attached to him. Looking over in the dark, he recognized the exhausted figure of James Wilson. Trying to disentangle himself from the octopus, he suddenly saw himself staring into brown sleepy eyes. "Where ya goin'?"

"I'm not, Jamie. Just thought you might be too hot."

Wilson sat up part way, trying to see through the gloom. "Tell me . . . about us."

"Jamie, I think we better forget that."

"Why?"

"If you ever remember me and our past, fine, but I don't want you to try and fit yourself to that past. I loved the Jamie of that time period, but you are him and I have never stopped loving you, can't you be satisfied with that?"

Wilson studied the apprehensive face, "'Course I can, but I thought . . . well, maybe there was something about . . . him that you especially loved, and I could try to . . ."

House sat straight up in bed, grabbing Wilson's shoulders, "Stop it! You are him. I love you. I want us to be together; I don't want you to change. If you get your memory back, great, but it's not as important as what you feel for me now. I know you can't fall in love with a man you've only known for four days, but I'm willing to wait. Meantime we work on our friendship - - if that's what you want."

"Sorry, I shouldn't have pushed. Thanks for staying here tonight. I don't expect you to babysit me . . . I really got to go pee."

Wilson got up and walked rapidly into the bathroom where he still was 15 minutes later. House decided that enough was enough. Walking over to the door, he pounded on it and yelled out, "James Wilson, you get your butt out here."

There was no answer so House tried the knob. The door was unlocked. Walking in, Gregory House saw the figure of James Wilson lying peacefully in the aroma-scented bath. Crooking his left eyebrow, House asked, "Isn't it a little bit late to be having a bath?"

"Hmmm, not having a bath, just trying to relax. All tied up in knots."

House sat down on the toilet, letting his eyes feast on the gorgeous sight in front of him. "Why are you tied up in knots?"

"What if I don't ever get my memory back?"

"Told you; it doesn't make a difference."

"It might to Cuddy."

"I've already talked to her. She wants you back and is willing to talk to you about it - - when you get your ass in gear and return to the hospital."

"Oh."

"What's that mean?"

"Why are you an imbecile?"

"What?"

"You said that you had a supreme bedside manner and you were an imbecile . . ."

"Oh, you've got a good memory . . . some of the time. Well, wouldn't you say that a man who's reached the advanced age of 29: who's fallen in love with a gorgeous 19 year old, and then walks out on him, is an imbecile?"

"Indubitably," Wilson said while smiling provocatively.

"And then if that same person then screamed and yelled at the man who was helping him get through a near fatal illness and finally insulted that person at every turn, wouldn't you say that he was an imbecile?"

"Well, I would, but I didn't think you would . . . not with your ego."

"James Wilson, get out of that tub." The younger man immediately complied which led to several minutes in which Greg House used a warm towel to dry a wiggling, fantastic smelling body.

Minutes later the two men were back in bed, lying side by side, but not touching. Both men knew that the other was awake. Gradually, James Wilson moved his right hand closer to House's left hand which was lying flat on the sheet between their bodies. Tentatively, the young man laced his fingers with House's and held on. For a moment, the apprehensive oncologist thought that House would pull away, but he didn't; he just tightened his grip. They laid there for several minutes, tightly grasping each other's hands.

In the silence of the night, suddenly, Wilson whispered, "I'm scared."

Greg House turned on his good side and pushed himself up on his elbow, stilling holding Wilson's hand. He pulled Wilson's palm close to him and gently kissed it. "Why?"

"Don't know really. Maybe I'm afraid you'll get tired of me. I fell in love with you 18 years ago. I think I'm on my way to doing it again, but the idea of you leaving me, scares me to death."

"Hmmm, how about this? We sign a contract to stay together for 30 years and then we'll re-examine our options?"

Wilson sat straight up in bed. "30 years? That means that I'll be 66; you're going to dump me when I'm 66 and been your faithful companion?"

"Whoa, Lassie. I meant that you might want out of the relationship. After all you'll still be virile, handsome, and in good shape . . . somewhat. I figured I might have to go for some toy boy, while you go back to your little black book."

"Oh, well, that is a possibility, but why couldn't you be my toy boy? After all, you're a doctor; you should be pretty well preserved."

"Well, normally that would be the case, but with your track record for profligacy, I figure I'll be worn out in 20 - - 25 years."

"All right, I'll keep you around in your wheelchair as a conversation piece, and I'll enjoy myself with the cute, little, old things while we while away our hours in the old folks home. How does that sound?"

"66 isn't old, Jamie."

"Neither is 76, and I intend to keep you young for a long time."

"Oh, you've found a new miracle drug?"

"No, it's one of the oldest things known to mankind. Nothing keeps you young like an active sex life."

"Doctor Wilson, you're making me blush."

"Good to know that; now how about I kiss you, and we go to sleep."

"What are you doing, Wilson?"

"Kissing you, just like I said."

"Wilson, that's not my mouth. Where did you learn your anatomy?"

Read my lips, Dr. House. I have A-M-N-E-S-I-A, so my memory is eratic." Whereupon, Dr. Wilson promptly returned to his kiss.

THE END


End file.
